


The Difference Between Good And Evil

by Yaoiloverread



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Dark, Everyone's a villain these days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2013-02-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:56:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaoiloverread/pseuds/Yaoiloverread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times Moriarty was not the villain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. MYCROFT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft is getting a bit fed up with Sherlock.

1\. MYCROFT

 

Mycroft sighed, shifting through the reports of Sherlock's latest movements. He'd been meeting with the drug dealers again (and Mycroft made a mental note to cut off that avenue soon), despite the extensive rehab stay and the range of cases that Mycroft sent him to keep him busy. Even the deal with the MET superintendent (merely a spot of blackmail. If he didn't want to get caught out then he shouldn't have been so obvious in the first place) was starting to have less and less effect, as Sherlock got more exacting in the cases he wanted.

Sherlock had even come in the other day, just to accuse him of filtering through only the boring (non-life-threatening) ones, so he could tell Mummy that he was keeping him safe (and although he was correct, Mycroft was hardly going to admit to it. Mummy had insisted, because Sherlock was still, no matter what anyone said, the baby of the family).

Mycroft was not amused. Security should have caught Sherlock breaking in to his office (and causing such a scene with all his yelling and dramatics, especially when he'd had to be dragged out of the room. His 'co-workers' were still smirking suspiciously at him), and this type of mistake would have consequences for everyone ( a spot more training would be required for those employees, maybe in Afghanistan?). At least it was only Sherlock, and not a more precarious person.

As it was, he had managed to completely mess up the notes to three separate top-secret projects, and Mycroft was now stuck at his office, at four in the morning, sorting through the notes that had to be handed on in a couple of hours. And then he had a full day of meetings, which he had planned on being well-rested for (he had already been up the previous night as well, worried about how Sherlock was doing. It turned out he needn't have bothered). Now all he could do was hope that he didn't start a war in his tired state.

Perhaps he should look for a playmate for Sherlock, since he was too busy these days to play 'nemesis' with his brother. Someone on the opposite end of the morality spectrum, of course (it wouldn't do to have Sherlock be a complete psychopath). So, a criminal, but any one person couldn't handle it all (well, unless they were him. But the whole point of this exercise was so that he wouldn't have to deal with Sherlock's petty problems). An organisation then, spider-webbed across the whole of London (because he didn't want Sherlock to go gallivanting across the whole continent. He still shuddered at the memory of The Incident In Algeria).

And like every good organisation, it needed a front-man, someone to sell the concept. The face of the project, as it were, with a name that would inspire fear, and awe... someone like his old math teacher, Professor Moriarty. Engaging and charismatic, he could always get his students to pay attention at all times (and Mycroft may have picked up some of his own mannerisms from his teacher, but they were effective, and already proven to work).

Mycroft blinked at his wandering thoughts. What was he thinking - a criminal organisation, totally dedicated to one Sherlock Holmes? It sounded ridiculous. He put it out of his mind, and got back to work.

[But somewhere in the back of his thoughts, the idea lurked, and when he met a down-on-his-luck actor, on whom he had acquired some incriminating evidence (and also after a long, trying day with Sherlock barging into his office no less than three times, two for imaginary offences), he decided to test it out. After all, what could it hurt to try?]


	2. WATSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watsons are always loyal.

2\. WATSON

 

Sherlock had to scale the fence and pick the locks just to get in. He'd definitely expected someone to ambush him by now; if not Moriarty himself, then at least one of his goons. But the corridors on the way in had been silent. As the grave, his mind added darkly, and he deleted the thought. His footsteps were the only noise around, echoing sharply against the tiled flooring. It would alert anyone in the building of his approach, but he didn't care about that. He had the USB drive with him, and he could use that as leverage against anything Moriarty might have.

He pushed the door open, and stepped through into the darkened pool area. It was empty.

The only source of light was the pool itself, lit up from within. The blueish light caught against the room, and he could see a door at the other end of the room. That's where Moriarty would come from, he knew. It would be highly dramatic, just the sort of thing that Sherlock might have done himself, were he the evil mastermind. He took a deep breath, and took a moment to look around the place again.

This had been the beginning. Of everything.

The swimming pool where Carl Powers had died, the first case that had sparked his interest, if only because of how incompetent the police on the case had been. He'd even pointed out a valid clue, and they had done nothing. But he had always been stubborn - verging on the arrogant, Mycroft's voice murmured in his head, but he had always been jealous over how much Mummy had doted upon him - and so he showed them all, just how right he was. Had been.

The distant hum of late-night London outside brought him back from his musings. Nothing had moved, or changed. Suddenly impatient, he called out into the gloom, waving the USB drive over his head. He ignored the uneasy feeling that pricked at him.

A curtain twitched. John stepped out, hands tucked into the pockets of the parka that he wore.

Sherlock froze completely.

His mind couldn't connect the idea of John, loyal soldier John... and consulting criminal Moriarty. Who'd killed twelve people with a bomb, and threatened three others with a bomb jacket... and John wouldn't do that, because he'd asked Sherlock about whether he cared about those people at all, the people that had died because of Moriarty's twisted game.

He latched onto that thought. John was obviously being coerced into this somehow, maybe blackmail, or someone else that he cared for was being threatened in return. Sherlock straightened up. The fifth pip!

Then John unzipped his jacket, and Sherlock could see wires wrapped around his chest. A chill went down his back.

John was the fifth pip.

He shouted for Moriarty to come out. Footsteps sounded, as Moriarty himself got closer and closer. The door opened.

It was a woman.

Her hair was a dirty blonde, and her eyes were steady, as she walked over towards the two of them. Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, eyes wide.

"Why," he croaked out of a suddenly dry throat. He wet his lips and tried again. "Why..."

"Why do we look similar, you mean?" the woman, close relative of John, a sister, Harry Watson, asked, unimpressed look on her face. "I believe you already know the answer to that." Sherlock looked at John again, and didn't know what to think. Why would John's sister use him as the last hostage? Sherlock found it hard to believe that John, with all his caring, would have a sister so completely opposite. It just wasn't possible.

John himself didn't look very scared of his sister, but his body language told otherwise. His posture was still, trying not to give any sudden movements and provoke her - and his mind still raced around that thought. Moriarty was a woman? He could barely wrap his head around it, especially given her close relation to John - and he was blinking rapidly.

Sherlock tried to bargain with her, John for the USB drive, but she threw it in the pool. Well, he thought wildly, at least Mycroft won't have to worry that someone will get the information anymore. He had nothing left to offer, and moved to point the gun at her.

She was already moving, one hand coming up to aim the gun away from her. It went off, the bullet striking the tile on the opposite wall. She had some basic training - twisting his wrist sharply until it might break - John must have given her some lessons - and made him let go of the weapon. Now Sherlock had his own weapon pointed at him.

John broke in then. "Sherlock, is that my gun?" He frowned at them, and Sherlock bit back a snort. John was trying to calm them both down by changing the subject; Sherlock idly wondered if it was how he'd acted in arguments against his family, and then realised that he didn't know. Apart from the mention of her phone, Harry Watson had never bothered to check up on her brother. And now they knew why. She was too busy running a criminal empire.

"John," he nudged his head in the direction of Harry. "Bit not good." His words prompted a small smile to John's face, but it disappeared as soon as Harry- no, Moriarty brought the gun up to rest against Sherlock's head.

"Johnnie," she said sweetly. "Why don't you give the jacket to Sherlock, hmm? Wouldn't want him to get cold."

John moved slowly, close enough to brush against Moriarty's arm. Sherlock tensed, waiting for the movement that John would make before he disarmed the woman.

But he didn't.

Instead, John removed the parka, and secured it to Sherlock - exactly what he was told to do - also tying some knots that Sherlock knew would take time to undo - time that he didn't have.

Sherlock's mind went blank. John had been in the best position to take down Moriarty, and he was clearly stronger than her, so why wouldn't he-?

John removed a bunch of keys from his pocket then, as well as a small bit of square plastic - and Sherlock's blood chilled as he noticed the big red button to the latter. He didn't need to be told what it was, and the fact that John could have just blown the two of them up earlier if he wasn't careful - oh but he was, the planning to get him all alone, and without any backup, because of course he'd go in alone just like the fool that he was, and he hoped that someone would read the message on his website and come for him, or his remains, or to catch the Watson siblings.

"John... why?" his voice came out shakier than he would've liked, but John only sighed as he moved further away, one finger constantly braced above the button. He looked over at Moriarty, who gave him the go-ahead, gun still braced against his forehead.

"Sherlock..." John's face held a mix of emotions, but Sherlock couldn't tell what he was feeling. "You've been... it's been... great. What with the crimes and gallivanting and everything." He locked the doors that Sherlock had originally come through, and put the keys back into his pocket. "But... I can't-"

Moriarty interrupted him then, eyes dark as she looked over him.

"But now you've gotten in the way, and we really don't have time for this." She leveled the gun at him, and pulled the trigger.

The gun went off, and Sherlock could feel the rush of air as the bullet whizzed by him to strike the wall. John held Harry's wrist in a firm grip. He'd pushed her aim off.

"You promised." This was said in a low voice, and he squeezed once, before letting go. She frowned at him, and sighed. Some part of Sherlock noted how similar the two of them sounded when they did that. Moriarty spoke again, dark smile firmly pasted onto her face, like nothing had just happened.

"We're giving you a chance, by playing a little game. See, Johnnie here thinks that you'd find your way out of any trouble, and I'd like to prove him wrong. So, we'll see whether you can escape, before you die. It's as simple as that, really. We have a timer here, complete with the automatic buzzer. Although, you know, it does come with quite a bang instead." Her smirk widened.

"We're going to be going out now. Try not to panic too much? At least go out with some dignity."

The two of them made for the exit, with the gun still trained on Sherlock. Sherlock stayed where he was.

"Wait! Moriarty!"

She turned around at the entrance. "You mean you haven't figured it out yet?" She looked disappointed.

"Oh well, he always said you were smart." She gave a little mocking wave. "Daddy says hi. You're in our way, so you're going to have to go." She disappeared behind the swinging doors, and John was about to do the same, when Sherlock shouted at his back. "Wait! John..." He paused. There were so many questions he wanted, no, needed to ask, but first... 

"I thought I was your friend." John paused at that. Maybe... He turned around, expression pained as he met Sherlock's eyes.

"You are. No," he shook his head. "You were. I'm sorry Sherlock, but my family will always come first." Face set in determination and sorrow, he shut the door behind him.

Sherlock could hear the sound of the doors locking. There was no other way out.

He worked at the jacket, and managed to undo one of the complicated knots at the side. Now for the next one-

\---

A safe distance from the swimming pool, already in a car and headed for the airport, the big red button was pressed.


	3. IRENE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boys could be so stupid.

3\. IRENE

The boys were so much fun to play with.

Mycroft Holmes, with his icy shell slowly being chipped away - ironically, by the very person he was trying to protect. It was almost laughable, the untouchable ice man, stabbed in the back, and unintentionally at that. She felt a thrill run down her spine as he shifted uneasily in his seat, as she gave her price. Now there's a man who could do with some unwinding.

And young Sherlock, sulking in the corner because he hadn't won, in the game he didn't even know he was playing, despite being so smart. Moriarty was right, he had such potential, but he was so focused on the little things he might as well have been one of the common people - like that Watson man, attempting to bond over 'feelings' (as if he wasn't known as 'Three Continents' for reasons). It was too bad, he was quite the looker.

But Moriarty was just as bad, choosing to target Sherlock, like a little boy pulling pigtails, but with a few more explosions and deaths. It seemed to work, anyway. As she'd thought, they were just little boys in the end, fascinated by the things that went 'Boom!'.

She smirked to herself, smug in her victory, and caught the eye of Sherlock.

Who was smirking at her, like he'd discovered gold, or a gruesome murder, if Moriarty's spies were to be believed. He stepped forward, and her plans went to Hell.

\---

She cursed to herself, as she flagged a taxi. After Sherlock had oh-so-gleefully destroyed her plans by unlocking her phone (she knew she should have changed the password, but it seemed easier to go along with Watson's belief that she really cared, and poked fun at Sher-Holmes, besides), she'd been arrested by the older Holmes' minions.

Luckily, she had managed to contact Kate, who'd bribed her way out, and she was FURIOUS.

The Holmes boys would just write her off so easily, would they? As if, since she was a woman, and overcome by her 'feelings', that she was useless!?

Moriarty was the useless one, choosing to dangle the information SHE'D uncovered over their heads, like it even mattered! The program was already going to be scrapped, anyway.

No, the best option would be to go directly to the customer, and skip the middle-man.

She had a plane to catch.


	4. ANDERSON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew it.

4\. ANDERSON

It had been all too easy. Slip in a couple of extra sentences at the end of a report, drop a few hints in the break room about the latest cases, add in some comments about the Freak's creepy love of dead bodies...

Lestrade didn't even notice anything, he just signed off on all those papers without even looking, slipped in with the mish-mash of acquisition, inventory, and rap sheets stacked up on his desk, that only seemed to grow day after day, no matter how many late nights he worked. Guess that's what happens when you decide to deal with someone like that, well tough luck.

Sally was even good enough to sign off as a second witness, collaborating her reports with his so that they covered everything the Freak had said (or rather, insulted everyone at the crime scenes) and done (messing with evidence, _stealing_ the evidence, just to name a few). Especially since she hated the Freak as much as he did, ever since he butted in on that domestic case a few years back, and just. Didn't. Care.

And now look at him - accused of kidnapping the ambassador's children, and they even had the girl's reaction to prove it! Not to mention how fast he'd found those poor kids, all showing off like he hadn't done anything wrong.

They'd been right all along. The Freak was a criminal, and a really good one too. The girl's screams hadn't even gotten a single reaction out of him, although the doctor had jumped (the poor guy, caught up in all this mess and still believing that the Freak was innocent. He'd read somewhere that some of the really bad psychopaths were the best at pretending. Or maybe the war really had done something to his head).

He knocked on the door, old report in hand.

"Come in." He turned the knob.

"Ah, sorry to take up your time, Commissioner, but it's important. It's about that kidnapping case..."


	5. SHERLOCK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end...

5\. SHERLOCK

 

"Jump," Moriarty said. "Or they die."

(I will burn the heart out of you, and it'll only takes three bullets. What a cheap date you've turned out to be!)

(Easier to play with than your brother. Easier to BREAK.)

(I'm so... disappointed.)

"No," said Sherlock.


End file.
